Millicent felt the stone wall press against her spine, its damp cold seeping through the thin fabric of her uniform. Harold was too close.The air in the tiny room, already thin, now felt entirely claimed by his presence."I have work to do, sir," she whispered, her voice a fragile thread. "My place is where the chores are. I am a maid. I shouldn't be anywhere else.""Your place is where I decide it is," Harold hissed.He stepped into the final inch of her personal space, his shadow climbing the wall behind her until it eclipsed the small, flickering light bulb overhead. He reached out, his fingers grazing the starch of her collar before snagging a lock of her hair."I’ve been patient. I bought you silks. I tried to show you a life beyond the dirt. And you? You hide in the steam? You treat me like a monster after I gave you everything?""I never asked for the silks, sir," Millicent said, a sudden spark of desperation giving her the strength to look him in the eye. "I only asked for

The girl staring back looked older, the light in her eyes replaced by a hard, flickering survival instinct."I need to leave," Millicent said, turning back to Martha. "I can't stay here until the baby... until it's too late.""You need money," Martha said, standing up and smoothing her own uniform. "And you need a plan. For now, you go upstairs. You serve breakfast. You smile at the children. And you wait."Millicent nodded, her hand instinctively drifting to her stomach. It felt as though a ticking clock were now buried deep inside her. As she walked up the basement stairs, the transition from the dark, damp cellar to the sun-drenched, opulent hallways felt more jarring than ever.The smell of fresh coffee and expensive lilies was suffocating. She was halfway to the dining room when she saw them. Harold was standing by the large bay window, his back to her, sunlight glinting off his silver hair. Evelyn was beside him, adjusting his tie with a tender, adoring smile. They looked

By the third day, Millicent’s voice was gone. She hung from the bindings, her head lolling, her consciousness flickering like a dying candle. She prayed for the darkness to take her, but their cruelty was precise; they ensured she stayed awake to feel every insult."That's enough," Evelyn finally said on the third evening. She stood and smoothed her silk skirt. "Untie her. And listen well: not a scrap of food. Not a drop of milk. If she wants to eat, she can pray to the God of strays. Let her rot in that cellar until she learns that a Griffin husband is not for the likes of her."The guards roughly cut her down. Millicent collapsed into the dirt, her body a map of pain. She crawled, inch by agonizing inch, toward the service entrance and down into the darkness of the cellar.Hours later, the heavy door creaked open. Millicent flinched, pulling a tattered blanket over her ruined back, expecting another blow. Instead, a shadow fell over her. Martha knelt by the cot, her face a m

To the world, Millicent was back to being a maid. But behind her hollow eyes, a clock was still ticking. She would scrub their floors, she would endure their cruelty, and she would wait. She had to survive long enough to find the exit that Martha had died trying to show her.The eighth month arrived like a heavy shroud. Millicent’s body was a map of exhaustion, her frame gaunt everywhere except for the prominent swell of her stomach. She was a walking shadow, held together by nothing but the rhythmic kicks of the life inside her.Harold, however, could no longer tolerate the sight of his mistake. The scandal was a ticking bomb, and he decided to defuse it. He cornered her in the secluded wing of the upper gallery."I’ve made arrangements, Mill," he said, his voice as cold as a winter grave. "A clinic on the outskirts. They’ll take care of the... problem. It’s too late for a simple procedure, but they are discreet. You’ll be rid of it by morning."Millicent clutched the railing, he

Max stayed on his knees, the cold floor biting into his skin, but the physical discomfort was nothing compared to the violent reconstruction occurring within his mind. Every memory, every time he had mocked Tedmond’s lowly blood, every time he had sabotaged his brother to protect the legacy, replayed like a series of crimes.‘I was the hero,’ he thought, a bitter, hysterical laugh bubbling in his chest. ‘I thought I was the white knight protecting my mother from a gold-digger. I was just the attack dog for a monster.’He looked up at Tedmond. For years, he had seen a rival, a threat, a bastard reaching for what was rightfully theirs. Now, for the first time, he saw a survivor. He saw a man shaped by the very fires that had tried to consume his mother."All those years," Max rasped, his voice cracking. "I followed Father's lead. I thought his coldness toward you was a sign of your unworthiness.”“I thought his discipline was a necessity. I didn't see that he was just beating the tru